Sacred Heart
by UltraVioletSoul
Summary: Life always gets complicated when you try to find a way out of its raging storm. By trial and error are you able to learn in this ruthless and cruel world, to face your inner demons and, finally, accept who you are meant to be. Implied NinjaTheory!DantexOC. Discontinued.
1. Monster

_**Author's Note:**_

_I know what you are wondering right at this moment and allow me to say that there is an explanation for all this._

_I've decided to rewrite this story, for it didn't satisfy me the way it was before— and I think you readers deserve better than the awfully and bad written narration I have given to you until a few weeks ago._

_Nonetheless, I must express my gratitude to those who have followed this fic and have given me the support to keep writing. This revamp was thought for you, so I hope you won't get mad at me for taking this decision on my own. And sincerely, I hope that you are able to enjoy this new and improved version as well— in all honesty, you are the ones who will judge if it really has improved at all._

_Also, I want to thank Silvestre, my never ending source of inspiration. Frankly, I don't know what I would do without you._

_And I want to show my gratitude to __**Luxuria De'Voire**__, my beta reader, who so lovely has devoted part of her time to check on this work._

_UVS._

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_**DISCLAIMER:**_

_I do not own Devil May Cry or any of its characters as they all belong to Capcom and Ninja Theory, as well as the recognizable elements of the series. I only own what I've made up with my time and imagination._

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_**ADVERTISEMENT:**_

_This is an AU. It contains DmC Dante, Tony Redgrave (that was the pseudonym Dante went by in his youth, as stated in the Devil May Cry novel) and original characters._

_There is mature language; violence; depression; lots of angsty Dante; and suggestive themes. This is going to be a long story, just so you know._

_If you do not like those kinds of things, I've already warned you._

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**Chapter I**

Apprehension was overflowing in those eyes whose expression most of the time used to be one of inattentiveness and nonchalance, while a shiver trickled its way down through her back in a slow yet painful motion. The feeling was much alike as that of ice burning on her skin, the cold sensation sinking into it and almost chilling her to the bone as her muscles remained tense and still.

Why was she so frightened? Why all of a sudden did she feel scared of the only one that had been by her side, who had been like a brother to her, and was the only family she had ever known? Why was her heart uncontrollably racing? Why did she feel like a terrified prey when cornered by its predator? Why was her mind telling her to run, to save herself while there was still time? Why did her body refuse to obey?

She was paralyzed… afraid of moving, of breathing… even of blinking an eye.

Muffling a gasp that still lingered in her dry throat she stared at his strong and slender form bent forward on the bed of the austerely furnished bedroom that was flooded with the smell of liquor and blond tobacco. His big and calloused hands were tightly gripping his locks, his knuckles almost as white as his unkempt hair that held remains of an old black dyeing and showed a very crude mohawk haircut.

There was a threatening shadow over him, shrouding his body with an aura of grief and a fury that was dangerously close to surface in his being. She almost could feel the very air of that room pressing onto her and menacing to crush her body under its mighty force like a miserable insect. But the worst part was not the fear, neither the painful pressure on the veins of her inner elbows and neck nor the sight that was before her; it was the turmoil she was feeling. It was her mind… it was all her mind's doing… it was her paranoia, her groundless terror of something she could not explain but only feel.

_What was she afraid of?_

It was as if he was trying to get rid of something that resided in his depths, perilously spreading like a cancer in his very core. The sight of him heavily breathing, every arduous intake of air he struggled to inhale, tortuous as if his body was suffering the merciless stabbing of sharp blades, made her feel unease. It was like the oxygen he was taking in was rather poisonous for his lungs, like he was drawing in deadly sarin, and for a moment she too felt she was about to suffocate within those concrete walls.

His skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and it showed such paleness that for a second she thought she had a ghost in front of her—one trying to deal with his own mental hell and all the unspoken secrets he had jealously kept to himself all through this time, thinking that he could bear with the weight of the world over his shoulders in hopes that one pain would replace another.

She tried to convince herself that it was just her mind playing a dirty trick on her, and that this was nothing more than a false perception. She felt like a child in the dimness of a room, being deceived by the shadows of the night, believing that they were going to savagely engulf her. That they were going to incessantly torment her without any chance to flee from that terrifying living nightmare that she involuntarily had created.

Maybe if she kept repeating that it was just her who was arising the baffling sensation, it will disappear. It will leave her be.

_There was nothing to be afraid of. There was not._

"Tony?" the girl warily called in a diffident tone as she dearly forced herself not to stutter that single word. A few seconds passed while she waited for the answer he never spoke as the only thing she could hear was his faint voice mumbling indistinct words she barely could decipher.

"It's my fault. It's my fault."

_His fault? What was his fault?_

He wasn't speaking to her, but more to himself. It seemed he wasn't even aware of her presence there, for he never casted as much as a single glance to her ever since she stepped into that bedroom they had shared several times, seeking for what little comfort a warm breathing next to her could provide before the realization of nature could hit her.

The simple understanding of the slight tension she felt whenever she was around him. The consciousness of her own self and his every time his skin touched hers, every time his breath tickled on her neck, and the sensation her body experienced before their proximity. Those kindling interests that a few years ago would have never been of much importance to her until the awakening of that time bomb that many people called puberty. That alone was a cause of disquiet to her, knowing that he was no longer a kid but a man and she, even in the dawn of her teenage years, was on her way to becoming a young woman.

And again, she should only be afraid of herself because her mind was the monster here.

But what was she really scared of?

"My fault…"

"Tony, what is wrong?" She questioned, trying to fight off the anxiety she felt for some imagined danger she couldn't start to fathom. With some effort, she managed to get her legs moving towards him, intending to drag him out of his disoriented and alienated condition when all of a sudden his body shifted and he stared at her. His icy blue eyes, darkened with anger and despair, locked on hers stopping her right on her tracks and even forcing her to take a step back. "What—"

"Don't get any closer." He demanded in a curt and bleak hiss, gritting his teeth in the way a hazardous animal does when it is hurt, driven by its instinct and the determination to survive no matter what. "Stay away from me."

"But, w-hat is happening?" she inquired perplexed.

"Just go!" He pointed to the door with his finger, becoming exasperated when she didn't move from her spot. "What are you waiting for, huh? Go! Leave me the hell alone! Get lost! Don't you have something better to do?"

Is this what she was fearful of?

"Tony, tell me what's wrong with you, please!" She insisted, raising her own voice just a little but still unable to look at him in the eye. She knew if she did, she would feel even more intimidated than she already was. Tony was not one to be trifled with, and she had learnt that the hard way. He was one to be feared, to be respected and mostly when he was angered, even if it was for no obvious reason, which was unlikely. But even though he had a problematical character, he still had a good side. Although sometimes he could be severe with his reprimands, and his words could sound harsh to the ears of anyone else, she knew that under that façade of arrogance, roughness, and even vulgarity, a sensible heart was hidden away from the world— a heart that cared for those dear to him, one whose wounds were still trying to heal.

But now, his face told her that now they have reopened, that now they were helplessly bleeding again. Even if there weren't any tears in his eyes, she knew he was crying in the inside for despite all his efforts to leave it all behind, to get over with it, his soul was still trapped in his own personal hell, suffering a punishment for things she could not understand just yet. And she wondered…

It was true he was hurt. It was true he was pissed off. At what, she did not know but still she would try with all her might to understand if only he allowed her to. If only he would confide what was the reason of his anguish in her. Maybe… just maybe, she would understand what was on his mind.

"Tell me, so I can help you." She pleaded, unable to remove her eyes from the floor, coated in grayish and ill ash of cigarette butts near the nightstand foot that probably had fallen from the glassy square ashtray, and a few empty bottles of liquor scattered around. Unconsciously, she clenched her fists at her own insecurity. She should be looking at him, assuring him that everything was going to be alright, that he could count on her. How could she be of any help if she didn't even dare to look at him? She really was a failure when it came to solace and cheering up others. No. Only when it was about Tony… when it came to ease the agony of the one she cared for the most, she was useless. It was like banging a wall with the fists in hopes it will break down… futile and frustrating.

The place seemed like a dreaded tomb when silence filled the air again. He didn't tell her to leave, he didn't scream at her anymore. Then, his sudden stillness gave her that needed courage to look up to those haunting eyes of his, with rings under them telling her of his lack of rest, of his sleepless nights being pursued by some dark wraith; those bloodshot eyes that told her of the liquor he had drank to call for the slumber that otherwise would never arrive.

With eyes fixed on his boots, he finally sighed dropping one of his forearms onto his knees, while he pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly grunting as he did so. She figured out that it must have been one of those persistent migraines that had been distressing him for some time now. Hastily, she reached toward the night table and opened the single drawer it had, her hands frantically searching for that small bottle in the midst of all the mess of papers, empty boxes of cigarettes, and several loose silver bullets.

"What are you doing?" He asked in an almost annoyed manner, covering his face with one hand and looking at her through his long and rough fingers, while he clenched his teeth in an attempt to cover the ache eating his brains away.

"Where are the pills?" She questioned still rummaging through the several items, determined to find them. At least, she could do that for him. She could take care of him and his welfare that he sometimes didn't seem to be concerned about. But who was she kidding? She couldn't even persuade him to stop smoking, let alone convince him of not to harm his body anymore. He said it was his life, and he would do whatever the hell he wanted with the rest of it.

"Screw that. I don't need them." He stubbornly stated as he watched her close the drawer with a low thud, already anticipating what she was about to say. It was always the same thing. He already knew what those words were her mouth was going to speak, for there were times she was so predictable.

"But you—"

"I said stop it, okay? I don't need those freaking pills. They make no difference, and instead of alleviate me I feel like they are rotting my head." He asserted with yet another heavy sigh.

'_So… there hasn't been any progress, then?'_

"How… so?" Her voice trailed off, as her gaze fell to the floor once again.

"I just said the pills are not making a great deal to lessen the pain, that's all. Please, don't be all melodramatic now." He said in irritation. "Now, would you just go?"

Her eyes widened at the request.

"But… what is wrong, Tony? Please, tell me!" She nervously asked, fighting the urge to fidget with her fingers or to bit hard on her lips. "I've never seen you so upset before. What happened?

'_Share a little of your pain with me.'_

"Look, my head hurts like hell. Just go." He asked once more as he buried his face in his hands, ignoring her queries. "I don't want to deal with you right now so leave."

Maybe he was right. She admitted she could be dense and bothersome at times, but she had the best of intentions. She swore she had them.

"Okay. Sorry, Tony." She whispered those words with such shame, that she could not help but feel her stomach cramping in wretchedness at her own giddy behavior.

Maybe after all, that was what she was really afraid of. She was scared of him getting rid of her, of him saying he didn't want her anymore by his side, of him telling that he hated her. That he hated the way she was, who she was. She was terrified of him leaving her too, and abandoning her. She was so dependent on him that if he said he loathed her, he would have every right to do so.

"Hey…" His croaky voice spoke, making her stop right away before she even reached the door. What was it? Anything he said, anything. She just wanted him to say it.

"Yes?" She turned back urging him to continue, letting him know he had all of her attention, and that she will listen to whatever he needed to say.

After some moments of silence and thinking, he rubbed the back of his neck before reaching for a book that was lying on his bed next to him and carelessly threw it at her, fully taking her by surprise at his sudden act. How was she supposed to expect for a book to be thrown right at her? With a little scream, she barely managed to grab it before it hit her on the head— which, thankfully, didn't happen. That blow would have probably knocked her out, as it was pretty hard and the book rather heavy.

"THAT is what is fucking wrong." He dully said, averting his eyes to the window as if mortified of something he didn't dare to confess.

Not yet.

Uncertain, she gazed at the book lying in her hands. It was old… it had to be at least a good few centuries from what she could tell. There was no title on its black leather cover though, or even a name for the matter. There was nothing that could give her the slightest hint of what it was about.

She fixed her gaze on him once again. His stare was locked on the floor and he was constantly licking his lips while his hand nervously rubbed his head, his feet loudly tapping the ground. It was quite evident he was really concerned about something, but then again he had been pretty nervous lately. He had a reason to be, after all.

"_This?"_ she dumbly inquired the obvious, unaware of the frown on his face. "A book?"

She instantly regretted ever asking that question, for he emitted a snarl as he got up in one swift movement way faster than she could have ever imagined. Overpowered by panic, she quickly backed off, her back painfully collapsing against the wall and burying onto it as he kept advancing on her. Then, she caught her breath in her throat at the sight of his pale blue eyes in front of hers— eyes that seemed to belong to a frozen ghost infuriated at some intruder who hadn't showed any respect for his domains.

And unexpectedly, his face was only a few inches away from hers as his raged breath furiously fanned on her skin. She could not take her eyes off of his, try as she might, for it felt like being in a trance… a beautiful and yet deadly one, just like the man before her was. And it burned; it agonizingly scorched her flesh from the inside, it slowly consumed her soul. But her eyes never dared to turn away from him. She needed _it_, she wanted _it_. She will swallow his hurt if that was what he wanted, if that was what he needed.

She will.

"YES! It's a goddamned book!" He sneered in fatal venom, making her uncontrollably shiver while she clutched said item on her chest. His voice sounded low and yet dangerous, with an obvious tinge of rancor and antipathy. It was impossible for her heart not to race, for her blood not to run cold, for her throat not to have a lump that was starting to choke her. "You are so clever, you know that? And here I thought I was reading a fucking porn magazine! Guess what? Had I seen two women making scissors on a couch, I think I'd be feeling much better!"

There was a shadow in his eyes and what they were showing to her was something appalling. The Tony she had known since a kid, the Tony she had got used to be around, the boy who would lighten the mood with a simple smack in the head, the one that wasn't the type who would say pretty words but still he would speak with the truth. The same Tony whose eyes held a trace of life, of light and hope, no matter how little it was.

It wasn't there.

She swallowed with great effort, feeling little to no dampness in her rather dry throat, and still unable to break the stare contest they had been holding for who knows how long.

"Are you scared of me?" He glared at her, trapping her with his body and his arms as he leveled his face with hers. "Tell me. Are you terrified? I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell your fear. Why is that? What is it that you see in me? Do you see a monster? Is that it?" He grew bothered at her speechless state. "Answer me, dammit!"

No. His irritation was overwhelming and was too much to handle. So much that she believed she was crying in his place, shedding tears for a pain that was not hers but she'd wished it was. Was it the only way to understand what he felt?

_A monster?_

"Tony—", she barely managed to say with a soft sniff once he backed away, her eyes travelling down to stare at her own foot while one of her hands tried to hide her vain weeping by removing the tears she thought were for him.

"Don't wait for me tonight. I have work to do. " He announced grumbling as he grabbed his keys and strode to the entrance of the apartment, taking his black and red leather trench coat on the way. Soon, the door stridently shut close leaving her on her own. She could hear his loud footsteps whilst he got downstairs, the clank of metal and the sound of her own breathing pressing right against her ears.

She eyed once more the black book that was still in her weak grip, keeping an obscure enigma from the world, a secret that not many were allowed to know— that is what it was telling her.

_Do you really want to know the truth?_

'_What is the truth?'_

_Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I can give you knowledge, but there is a price to pay. There is no victory without pain._

Slowly, walking to the bed, she took a seat on it and not even thinking of what she was doing, she opened the aged text smelling the like-grass and slight vanilla scent along with the acid tang that was a well-known and unmistakable quality of old books. The same odor that reminded her of that old public library she once had visited while looking for some historical documentation. It was the oldest one in the city and the rumors about a section of forbidden books was well spread amongst some citizens, she included. However, as a forbidden sector, no one was permitted in there, asides from very few people like priests.

A pentagram was the first thing she noticed when she opened the manuscript making her knit her brows in suspicion. Was this a magic book? She thought while quickly closing it, a sinister sensation chilling her entire body. People said that that kind of stuff could drive a person insane if inappropriately handled. Maybe that was the reason why Tony was nuts when she saw him.

_This is your last chance to turn away. If you are not strong enough to deal with the burden, then the truth is not the path you must follow._

'_I want to know…'_

Gathering what little nerve she could muster, she opened the book only to find that…

… Its pages were blank.

What happened?

Skimming the pages in a frantic manner, trying to find anything that could give her a clue of the cause of his madness, she winced when a stinging pain burned on her index finger and noticed that the paper had cut a rather long wound on the skin. The blood was quickly seeping out of it, falling in drops to the open book in her lap. Feeling upset and thwarted to some extent, she tried to stop the small flow of blood with her lips while wondering what she was going to do with the page stained in crimson.

Just as she finished the question in her mind, she watched the blood disappear as if it was being eagerly devoured leaving no signs that it once had been there. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight, and then she energetically rubbed them thinking of the most logic explanation at the moment: hallucination.

But then, she couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing.

Black ink was starting to appear, literally from nowhere, dancing like it was in water, in disarray at first but becoming clearer with every moment. It was as if the book was being written right in front of her eyes, or rather as if it was revealing what once had been inscribed on it— the secret that not many were given the opportunity to know about.

_Every page you read, will cost you blood._

Was this some illusion? Was she delusional? What kind of book was this?

Then, she saw it.

A horrific image crying out terror, covered in shadows and flames. Dark and powerful horns, curved downwards, made it all the more ghastly; piercing ruby eyes, fiery like fire itself, uncontrollably blazing like the sweltering pits of hell, were looking right at her; and its pointed teeth gave her the impression of wanting to rip her flesh without any mercy. It was the depiction of a bloodthirsty fiend of that legendary nightmarish place of misery and torture, just like the ones that terrorized her in her dreams.

_Monster?_

But her amazement didn't end right there.

She read the first lines of black ink printed on those pages that due to time had been tinted in a dirty yellowish shade:

_This is the forgotten story of a warrior of the past._

_This is the Legend of Sparda, the Dark Knight._


	2. Something To Believe In

_**Chapter II**_

The shadowy curtain of the night had fallen over the sleepless city that everybody said was full of 'golden opportunities', if only you were willing to exchange your freedom, and even your soul, for the filth of the luxurious and lavishing life of your dreams. If only you were well-disposed to cross the line, to step into the dark spiral of madness and slavery and give in to it. To become nothing more than the treacherous reflection of your most inner obsessions, witnessing your life slip through your fingers until you realize that you are a living corpse, being slowly consumed by an unstoppable and ravenous evilness.

That was the price to pay after all. Death was the punishment to compensate for your sins; for the sins of your father and your mother and even those of your siblings— for the curse that human blood had been carrying for so long due to its disobedience. The corrupt and errant legacy that had been passed in each generation of mankind was flowing with force in their veins. Redemption was something you must fight for and its path was a painful one, full of trials and tribulations. Only through suffering are you able to obtain the learning to break the chains that tie you in this universe of desire and illusion—just then you can start to fathom your existence, and your place in this world.

There is no rest for the warriors that fight for their lives, and write their story for a cost they can't understand. They say that's the way the greatest of the heroes are born. Those who will make a difference in your life, your neighbor's, the mailman's, of your family, of the other one condemned to jail, of that vagabond dog you saw yesterday, and even of that annoying person you loathe with an unknown passion and whose existence you wished was erased from the face of Earth.

But how high was the price? To how many things must you renounce in favor of your duty? How many things you lose, how many are taken away from you, how many people you must kill and bury in your heart, how many hard decisions in your life you must resolve knowing that there is no turning back, how much longer until you realize that all the hardships in your life haven't killed you but made you stronger instead— that the suffering you have endured has done nothing but temper your soul; it has made you wiser, and more resilient to even more troublesome adversities that you are yet to face. It has prepared you for the mission you were destined for, long before you were even born.

There is no such thing as coincidence.

But still, we are the makers of our destinies, and the writers of our stories. We are the ones who decide what path we must follow in order to fulfill our fates. Some of them will take you immediately to your destination, others will delay you, and others will even take you away from it. On your way, everything can happen… you can choose to stick to it, or go astray; you can choose to fight, or leave it forever.

And the street is the guide in this journey of lies— the school of life for excellence. The one that will teach you what you will never learn at some governmental institution or university. But it's not the gentlest and most compassionate one you can request, for you are taught hit after hit, day by day and night after night. Every step you take marks a route of disappointments that you have to overcome. And for every step, a new and bigger challenge appears for you to conquer. If you have the bravery, that is.

And in his small steps was where everything started…

The cold wind whispered its grief on those streets desolated by a dark and insatiable hunger of phantoms wriggling in their own misery, eager to feed on the despondency of the human souls that tried to find some warmth in the glowing fire that had been set within some old and dusty trash bin. Souls trying to find the same warmth in the strong taste of liquor they drank to unconsciousness, searching for that empty consolation it offered to their hearts, or consuming that needed illegal substance that so pleasantly made their minds drift into oblivion, while all of their concerns and frustrations died out as their bodies lay limp over that dirty floor that smelled of whiskey, smoke, and urine.

A few papers crawled on the scarred grayish pavement in despair, as they tried to flee from such gloomy and forlorn atmosphere that scared even the rodents you'd usually see in deserted and deprived places like that. A scene where police patrols were rarely ever seen covering their beats during the night. Hence, there was hardly any decent level of apparent security out there that at least could make you feel at ease. The area could serve as a perfect hiding spot for killers and rapists that would not hesitate to assault another victim to satisfy their lower instincts. As for the Mafia, it used the quarter to develop its illicit activities that, blessedly for them, were on its peak at that period of the year: gambling, contraband of alcohol and other illegal drugs, prostitution, traffic of organs, slave trade, you name it.

The absence of the 'men of law' wasn't exactly for their good fortune.

And still you would wonder what were two kids doing in a place like that. You would state that they should be at home with their parents, drinking some hot cocoa and getting ready to go to their warm and welcoming beds, that they should be hearing a fairytale before the usual 'sweet dreams' that would come afterwards. But that wasn't something easy to do when there was no one who would relate that fairy story to you, when you are without a roof over your head and thinking what would be the best place to spend the night at. Trying to decide if it would be better to sleep amongst the trash next to a garbage container or run the risk to freeze in exchange for something a little bit more 'cleaner'. Pondering about what you will have to eat tomorrow.

How did they get there?

You would suppose that they got lost; you would guess that they were scared for being in a foreign territory like this. But that sensation of being unable to find your way home wasn't something that worried them too much, and in fact they didn't feel it at all, for there is no way to lose your way when there is no home to return to in the first place. When there is nothing that bonds you to go back the sensation of belonging to a place vanishes and much more when you have been running away most of your life. You cannot feel love for a land you barely remember. How can you know what your place is in this world when all that is left for you is the exile, when the frail equilibrium in your life has finally collapsed under the weight of a nameless terror.

A boy of his age shouldn't be thinking of that.

But while he stretched the dark green coat over the hard and cold floor of that dirty alley the best his hands could, he could not help but reflect about his life, if you could call it that. All of this seemed a never ending vicious circle of doom, and he was terrified the story might repeat again. He had lost count of how many times he had wished for this to be just a bad dream… for him to wake up, maybe being someone else. Perhaps living another life, having another name and inside another one's body.

But this was no nightmare. This was the cruel reality.

And it incredibly hurt.

She quietly watched him prepare that improvised bed near the trash container that would protect them from the wintry breeze that blew, while tightly holding onto that dirty cuddly toy that she protectively carried with her at all times, as if she was a mother bearing her child. Though normally he would have found that action slightly annoying, he never said a word about it because he felt that that 'stupid bear', as he had named it, could be the only source of comfort and happiness to her— a consolation that he wasn't willing to take away from her, as long as it kept her naïve spirit contented.

"Come here." He offered once he was satisfied with his work, taking a seat over the cloth whilst he adjusted his black _ushanka _[1] that covered all of his head, ears and his medium length silver hair and that managed to keep him somewhat warm. "We are going to sleep here. I think no one will disturb us tonight."

Hiding her face behind the plushy toy in her arms, she pulled her foot dressed in a pair of knee-high brown chamois boots and shyly approached him. Sitting down next to him, she stared at the ground as she snuffled what it seemed to be mucus through a partially blocked nose, coughing under her breath. Feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach, his head snapped at her as his azure eyes slowly widened at the sight of her scrubbing her nostrils with her gloved hand. Tugging a sigh out of his lungs, he failed to notice the furrow on his white-colored eyebrows, for the only thing that crossed his mind was the silent hope for her not to catch a cold, or even worse: a flu. What was he going to do if she got sick? It's not like he had any money to take her to a doctor or purchase medicines from some pharmacy, he didn't have the needed experience or the slightest idea of how to take care of an ill person, or a decent place where he could look after her for the matter.

Biting his inner cheek, he grabbed the small jacket, which apparently had been left behind in the public park and they had found by chance, and covered her legs her that were clothed in a pair of white leotards under a wintry dress and grayish coat, which showed small spots of brown dirt. Shifting himself, he rested his back against the steel material that felt too cold despite him having a sweater on… a single one.

Shivering a bit and feeling a tinge of stabbing pain squashing his already sore muscles, he tried to move closer to the brick wall to lay the weight of his body onto it. The sensation of hard blocks pressing against his back was not very pleasant to feel, but at least its chilliness was more tolerable.

Lightly sniffing, he rubbed one of his eyelids while glancing at the people a few meters away from them, warming their hands in that small and cozy fire he had set his eyes on ever since the moment he stepped into that passageway. He wished he could warm his hands too, he wished he could enjoy such simply luxury as that. Yes, now the possibility of a source of heating was an extravagance when a few years back his mother had said he'll never have to be cold if he didn't want to. Now, he didn't ask for a soft and big bed to sleep in, he wasn't demanding for the joy of a full stomach…

He only wanted the warmth of an insignificant blaze he knew was out of his reach.

Something was telling him to do otherwise. That if he wanted to keep his nose clean, he should not intrude in foreign lands. The first priority now was to stay out of trouble… those people didn't inspire any trust in him. Call him paranoid, but those days anybody could represent a potential harm for them and a risk was something he couldn't allow himself to take. Another mistake to be made was out of question.

_Do not accept the world as it is._

Warming his naked and dirty hands, he only hoped that people would leave them be at least for tonight, alone to deal with his woe that was beginning to burn him— a misery that had started to annihilate his inner life from the moment the one he loved the most, and the reason of his existence, became extinct.

He used to think that she had fallen from the stars— he believed that she was his bright star, brilliant and warm as the sun itself with her golden locks of hair, only shadowed by her gentle and kindhearted sapphire eyes that made him remember of all the good things in this world. Those very eyes that now made him yearn for the tenderness he knew he wouldn't see anymore.

And Tony asked himself the same he did night after night. Once again, he tried to solve the same doubts that would remain unanswered placing a vacuum inside his young heart, leaving scars that would never heal no matter how much time passed before his eyes. On and on, that voice resounding in the back of his mind asked the same pointless questions in a never-ending speech that was going to make his ears bleed at any time.

When was Mother coming back? When was Father coming back? When was his brother coming back?

_He wished he could forget._

His body cringed a little when he spotted a drunken old man passing by close to them in those dark streets, with a bottle of alcohol in hand, singing and shouting incoherent things in happiness, that even though fake still was so desirable, blinding and confusing.

He could not help but pray for the two of them to survive one more night in this new ruthless world they had been thrown into. Oh, he prayed for them not to get hurt anymore, for not to be devoured by those who dwelled in the shadows of those grim surroundings— if there was still a god up there, he only asked for him to hear his cries and pleas…

_Yes, he wished he could erase his own memory._

The man left as quickly as he had appeared, and the boy could not help but let out a great sigh in relief, grateful to be able to unwind himself even if it was just for a moment. And as he was unable to take his blue eyes off of the male, he hadn't noticed the warm and small body that was still in his grasp, his arms protectively enclosed around the tiny girl, refusing to let go of her as if his life depended on it… as if he was afraid he might lose her to the night.

How could he deny that he was scared? How could he not to feel scared when the nightmares permanently followed him everywhere? How could he get rid of the horrific images that plagued his mind to no end?

Maybe if he hadn't seen her die, it would have been a much easier load to bear with… maybe then the pain he had been trying to suppress from a long time ago wouldn't have exploded in an outburst of grief that was eating away any hope that could be left.

He was sick of it all. He just wanted to be at home; he just wanted his mother back. He wanted to embrace her, to hear her sweet voice every time she said goodnight to him, to feel her soft lips whenever she gave him a kiss on his cheeks— to tell her that he was going to be with her forever and to love her until the end of time.

When was She coming back?

A sudden gust of frozen wind chilled him, and as if he had just been slapped that cold pain made him come to his senses. He gazed at the youngster who was still blithely rubbing the back of her hand on her nose, as if oblivious to the fact that he had been looking for some kind of protection from her just a few seconds ago. Releasing her from his seize, he whispered a few words in shame while he helped her to cover her legs with the cloth he had given to her.

Crossing his arms to prevent the small amount of warmth his weary body still retained from escaping, he supported his arms onto his knees, and rested his head over them. Truth to be told was that he desperately wanted to sleep and yet he couldn't, or rather didn't want to, because he knew that once his eyes were closed they would pursue him without any mercy. _They _were going to skin him alive in an endless torture as they greedily devoured his flesh and drank of his blood, hearing his cries and pleadings as they watched him shed red tears from his tormented eyes. Suffering was their dark pleasure, fear was their drug…

_He really wished he could erase the pain._

He was going to see her die again and again and again and again…

And once more he wasn't going to be able to do anything to save her— only hide, scared of _them_, feeling terrified at the crimson sight and the dreadful roars of anger and satisfaction that still echoed in his head like a continuous remembrance of who those sinister beings were.

_They were going to find him._

Tony trembled, feeling the tears wetting his pale azure eyes— those same eyes that once were shining brightly and overflowing with happiness now were dull and full of sorrow, stained with guilt and shame for his own self. His chest terribly ached as he felt the arduous weight over his heart crushing his entire body while the throbbing muscle pumping blood through his veins agonizingly twisted within him, trying to asphyxiate him every time he struggled to breathe to stay alive, as his primal instincts were telling him to do.

He was destroyed, he was consternated, he was mad, he was broken. His mind was fuzzy, disorientated, and about to fall into the filthy depths of insanity whose gentle and pleasant whispers caressed him

He was so sorry. He really was…

_He was lonely._

A dark abyss was engulfing him, while strong and frozen hands were reaching to grab his limbs in a desperate and wicked attempt to dismember his now frail mentality. That foul taste invaded his mouth, and the putrid smell like brimstone that drifted in the air overwhelmed his nostrils making him feel nauseous.

Was he losing his mind?

_Dad was gone. Vergil was gone._

In the end, everybody dies alone— painfully alone. There are no friends, no enemies, no family— it is complete solitude taking over a soul.

And one more time he wondered why was he still alive? Was he not worthy of God's generosity? Why didn't he take him with her?

God didn't exist. He didn't… if he did, his family wouldn't be dead. He would still have them by his side, they would still share their days together in times when dreams and hopes had a special place within him.

_Mom was gone._

Why should he keep living anyways? Was there a reason to do such a thing? Why still linger there when there was nothing left for him?

It was madness. Yeah, that was it. Sweet insanity had come to him, with promises of taking the pain and regret away, seducing him with offers of no more nightmares, no more horrors, and no more anguish.

It would be so easy. If only he gave in to it, if only its blight could embrace him with arctic and welcoming arms— if only…

"I am hungry, Tony." He unexpectedly heard her voice making him blink astounded while he lifted his gaze to meet her big and childish eyes, and that small pout that showed her lips. It was the first time she actually said something after all this time, and if he hadn't known any better he would have thought that she was unable to speak, which was something he had been starting to believe until now.

He gave a heavy sigh. In all honesty that had been the last thing on his mind, and now that he thought about it he too was famished, but unfortunately there wasn't any food left in his bag for them to share.

"We have run out of food." He confessed while gazing at the floor, already feeling his stomach grumbling in protest at his words. They hadn't eaten anything during all day and he was seriously thinking that they were going to have to— well, he was going to have to think of some way to get some foodstuff otherwise they wouldn't last much longer in this cold winter. "And we have no money."

"Is there nothing?" She tilted her head in a questioningly manner while scratching her messy locks of hair that were dirty and greasy. After several days living, or rather surviving on their own, he couldn't say that they were on their best. However, being dirty was the least of their dilemmas now, and something told him that from now on their difficulties could only increase. How much farther down could they fall now? He had no desire to know at all.

"Nothing." He nodded in a murmur, hiding his teary eyes beneath his bangs. "I'll try to get you something tomorrow." He assured, though he had no idea of how he was going to do that. "Now go to sleep."

He felt his voice trembling with pain, and he tried to suppress the sob lingering in his throat. If there was something he didn't want to do it surely was crying. He could not allow himself to do that. He had to be strong— he had to be for the two of them, just like she requested of him.

_Mom._

But he could not help it. He needed to mourn for her— he had to. This pain afflicting his soul was obliterating any little light giving him hope and he had to let it out, otherwise he felt like he was going to explode.

He had the right to cry, hadn't he? Why not cry for your loved ones? Why hold back his feelings that were begging for him to let them emerge? Why deny his human nature? Why not assuage the hurt of his spirit? Why not be compassionate with himself?

He dryly gulped as he felt a small and surprisingly warm hand wiping away a few tears streaming down his face. Staring at the little child, he saw her bending towards him with an expression of uncertainty and concern in her face.

"Tomorrow will be better, right Tony?" she ingenuously asked and he forced a smile trying to put on the act.

"Yeah… tomorrow." He tried to comfort making her give a lighthearted smile, showing her milk teeth that were in serious need of a toothbrush. Then, he just realized that it was the first time he had seen her smile ever since…

"Everything is going to be alright." She soothed while getting closer to him, grabbing the jacket that covered her legs and curling against him in an attempt to share the tiny cover.

"Yeah." The boy nodded as he felt her affectionately nuzzling into his clothes, already feeling the temperature of his body boosting now that they were sharing and keeping their warmth.

_He wanted to believe that._

"Goodnight, Tony." She breathed in a misty whisper, faintly coughing as she cuddled her teddy bear to her chest while a weak smile formed on her lips that had been burnt by the cold, same as her cheeks.

He didn't say anything else— he didn't have anything to say. He just watched her falling asleep, her breathing slow and calm as small clouds of haze emanated from her mouth and nose, and her expression that was one that showed no worries concerned about her future and what it had in store for them. If only she knew, he thought.

Resting his chin over the top of her head Tony wondered how it was possible for her to do such a thing after what had happened. For all he knew, there hadn't been one night she could not have been dead to the world. How was it possible when she had witnessed the same as him? Was she not afraid of those monsters too? Was she not frightened of what they might do?

And despite it all, deep inside of him, he wished he could have such a peaceful slumber just like she did. He wished he could wear that smile on his face, he wished for his family to be with him and not to feel fear anymore, but what he longed the most…

He wished he could believe in those words she had just said.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[1] _Ushanka_. It is a Russian fur hat with ear flaps, also known as Trapper or Bomber hats.


	3. Masquerade

_**Chapter III**_

Smoke lingered in the air of the gloomy room, faintly illuminated by the weak golden glow of a simple light bulb that hung from the ceiling, where spiders curiously scrutinized the patrons every once in a while from the safety of their cobwebs. The opaque and gray murkiness sketched strange ghostly figures, as fervent as ever to narrate the same old stories of boulevard that people wanted to put out of their minds, in a fruitless attempt to erase the memories that distressed their hearts nonstop— trying to restrain the madness that ached deep down _their _bodies as they tried to plot their malevolent schemes to elude the dangerous reality that was so close to shattering their masks of cunning deceptions.

Somehow _they_ fancied for their end to come. _They_ had a desire for the appealing taste of revenge that enticingly made the miasmal surroundings sigh in anticipation at the prospect of devouring the soul of the very one whose blood was rumored to be an elixir; whose flesh was born of that of a filthy traitor, a repulsive turncoat no less, who dared to turn his back to the very Emperor of the Underworld for the sake of a lower kind that certainly was not worthy of any contemplations— a race that should have never existed in the first place, and whose destiny should be execution and their absolute removal from the face of this world.

They had to pay for the sins of their Father, and pay they would. It was the only reasonable outcome after all.

How much they despised that young boy— and how much they yearned to see him weltering in his own mucky misfortune inside that dark mental cave of his, an impenetrable fortress jealously guarded by his own demons that had managed to live under his shadow all this years, feeding themselves on his inner repugnance. A hazardous mind that knew of all the horrors that lay beyond this observable spectrum, and seemed to be a rather hard to puzzle out riddle for those who were just mere humans— such pathetic things incapable to see past their noses, and whose acuity had been reduced to that of a beast…

No, that would be too much to say. Even an animal was more perceptive than that.

Ah, they really missed seeing his face washed in utter confusion and despair. But instead of that oh-so-desirable sight, they were regarding that poker-face expression he showed with such a lack of pretension as he took a swig from his regular glass of clear vodka, savoring the strong pungent taste that overwhelmed his tongue; giving the occasional wary and suspicious glance to the few customers that shared the space with him in that rather dull place, equipped with a small number of decrepit furniture that miraculously still managed to be on their feet despite their nearly deplorable condition.

Was not the young lad clever? He could tell from the very moment he stepped in that mediocre bar that something was off. And as if it was not enough, he had his eyes on that red-haired beauty that was seated in a dark corner, seducing a drunken man that had joined her just a few moments before by running her hand along his thigh, whispering indecorous words that sounded as if they were from some pornographic movie he no longer remembered to have ever seen.

How much more they longed to savor the hatred that had been growing inside of him all these years, born from the evil seed their brutal acts had planted a long time ago, and thrived in the tender and young soil that he so innocently had provided; nourishing it with the essence of fear and loss, and feeding it on the blood of those who shall never come back— those whose voices will never be heard again; voices that still screamed in his mind in a such mournful manner, begging for him not to forget them.

But the question was: how could he ever do something as impossible as that? Something like that was unthinkable, unachievable. How could he when there was not a single day he stopped thinking about the past? The past he so persistently clung onto every day, drowning in the feeling of guilt and impotence that assaulted him every night in the solitude of a cold empty bed that only spoke of lies and regrets. Night after night, he would try to escape from his guilty conscience that incessantly reproached and persecuted him, laughing at his face and making a mockery of him and his hurt.

The way her deep-blue eyes had blazed in the dimness of that cellar that smelled of confinement and humidity, its ever so cold atmosphere welcoming him to a new life of petrifying frights and grotesque visions of bones painted in the stench of rusty red, still burned in his head in a constant reminder of that bleak night as if it had just been yesterday, as if time had never passed before those tired eyes of his that had seen things whose existence others ignored, or blindly denied just for fear of the unknown.

Leering inwards, he emptied his drink in a quick swig wondering why the hell that couple could not speak any lower, so they could keep their intimacies for themselves. Even though the old jukebox was on, the volume of their voices still was easy to hear over the Del Shanon out-of-date hit that had been featured in some TV drama, and was playing at the moment [1]. It seemed as if she did not have any shame, from what he could tell as he heard the man give a resonant sigh at the descriptions of what she would do to him had they been alone. The brunette young man could not blame her though, since he did not have any shame himself, for the streets had made him the brazen and infamous man he now was. Moreover, nobody there seemed to be concerned about the licentious little chat the couple so animatedly was engaged in and he thought that maybe he should stop prying into other's affairs. He did not gave a damn about them; it was not like he cared. They could go and fuck wherever they pleased.

"Gimme another one, Ben." The young customer demanded in a yet sober tone, while sliding his empty glass against the dark wooden surface covered in scratches and away from him, expecting to be offered with another drink that did not take long to be placed in front of him for the fifth time, as the bartender looked upon him with an expression of mild surprise and worry at the alcohol resistance the teenager's body had.

The first time the boy appeared in that run-of-the-mil tavern, its owner had to wonder what a young man such as him was doing in an old fashioned place like that. For all he knew, there were better places where lads of his age could spend their time and their money— not that he was complaining, of course- and yet he had chosen to waste his cash in this run-down bar. Needless to say, the bartender was further surprised when that lady with burgundy hair appeared one night out of the blue, giving off that mischievous air of a naughty girl that liked to play it rough. The first thought that crossed his mind was that she was a prostitute, and maybe he was not wrong, for every night she would leave with a man. But then again, he cared not, as long as there were customers willing to pay for a few drinks and have a good time with the woman that seemed like a blessing for his business.

After that first visit, the young man had dropped by almost every night. Every time he would sit in the same spot before the bar, and would order vodka. A few words would occasionally be exchanged between the two men at first, but in time the younger one opened up enough as to reveal him his name. And night after night, Ben would see the woman intently staring at Tony as if wanting to devour him with her green eyes that held a dark promise of extreme pleasure and maybe pain. Tony did not look as if he was oblivious to her fascination— or at least, as Ben had assumed it to be- for he always would give her a concealed smirk as if knowing what dirty images were plaguing her mind.

As the hours went on, the smell of burnt ashes, mixed with the strong and sour scent of alcohol, intoxicated the place with the odor of forgetfulness that so coldly crept onto perspiring skins, while the silent cries for salvation were swallowed by the void of mundane vices and their promises of a world of less pain, that was nothing but a mirage in the midst of the desert of their lives. Tony had already finished his twelfth glass, and it did not seem as if he was going to stop when the glass was filled up for the thirteenth time. Now Ben started to worry for real when the brunette man seemed to show the first signs of being drunk and much more when he turned on his chair to face the rest of the customers.

Tony kept acting as if he was ignorant of the thousands of eyes glaring at him, in the safety of the cobwebs knitted amongst the old wooden rafters of the ceiling— of the voices that kept whispering about their hatred for him— an odium whose motive he was not interested in comprehending. The reason was very clear: they held nothing but evilness. The real question was why him? Why not others? Why not his neighbor or another idiot who thinks their perfect boring life is not thrilling enough for their taste? Why the hell did it have to be him of all people in the world? Why did it have to be the people he loved?

He almost could smell their satisfaction as lush red lips were sensually licked, tasting the bloody and savage orgasm that will never be savored, that will never be suffered— hearing the screams of agony before such a painful and cruel climax that would put him to death.

There he was, alive, after being touched by suffering in flesh and soul. Even after destroying his morale, even after slaughtering his innocence and dreams, even after trying to corrupt his heart with the lure of hell and imprisoning his soul within the confinement of misery, he still had the force to keep going, and to move on— or at least he had the courage to take one more breath.

Did he really think that he could escape?

_Did they think they could escape?_

_:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-_

His once steady breathing got ragged as his heart, that now was beating faster, pumped the addictive adrenaline through his veins. The now-boiling blood scorched his flesh in eagerness at the new situation arising in front of him. The red fluid trickled from the corner of his mouth, down his chin, and he could not help but relish the salty and metallic taste that deluged his numb tongue. He was not one to find rejoice in feeling pain—unless it engaged him in activities pursuing a more… sensual nature- but compared to the one caused by the load he had to carry all this time in spite of all the hurdles that he faced up to this point, it was by far insignificant. Being honest, he just wanted to laugh at the poor man who thought that he could daunt him as if nothing, merely underestimating and assuming that Tony would be an easy rival to defeat just because he was 'a kid trying to play an adult'.

Licking his thin lips, he noted the burning it left on his lower fold as his tongue grazed the split flesh, lingering there for a brief moment. Sweat was sliding down his pale skin as he felt his body heating up in anticipation—and partially due to the lack of ventilation in the basement of a bar he would spend time at, too. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to take off his jacket in the first place, but, on the other hand, he could not risk letting others know that he was armed. It was not like he worried about those people's safety, but he did not see the reason why they should know that detail.

Not at all unbeknownst to the hungry eyes of the female who had originally caused all this commotion to come about, taking in his every move with great interest, he swung another fist to the bastard that had dared to annoy the hell out of him by standing in his way to his main target. Finding it difficult to restrain himself, he chuckled in satisfaction when his blow made contact with a jaw and the sound of what it seemed a bone breaking reached his ears, followed by a muffled whimper of pain. Tony watched rather amusedly as the drunken chap was thrown backwards, falling over a wooden table, which was smashed with a crash and outright destroyed beyond repair.

"You son of a bitch!" The older male barely managed to say in a subdued voice, massaging his wounded chin while he tried to get on his feet; a task that proved to be none too simple given the intoxicated state he was in. It had been a pretty hard hit it seemed and there was no doubt of it when a pair of red-stained teeth slipped from his sore mouth, that acutely ached at the smallest movement of his jowl, and fell to the floor covered in blood and spittle.

"Look pal, I already warned you. I have no business with you, so you'd better hit the road unless you wanna shed some blood here," barked the teenager, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he separated his legs to adopt a fighter stance in case of retaliation. If there was one thing Tony could not tolerate, it had to be the provocations from others. So usually when someone tried to pick a fight with him, he would sure give it to them; however, the circumstances were a bit different now. He was not interested at all about dealing with the guy that ridiculously kept snarling like some dog trying to succeed in the coupling with a bitch by scaring potential rivals away. In fact, his intention had not been to hurt the man but the situation had required him to do so, since he threw a fit the moment Tony tried to get close to the female who kept him accompanied.

The foe growled in rage yet again as he dashed forward, ready to give a strike to the much younger male, who retained an expression of amusement at the absurd spectacle unfolding before him. The only thing the boy had to do was step aside, and the man just ran past him, collapsing onto the floor once more, wrecking a bar stool that was the only unfortunate victim of the events.

"TONY!" echoed a shout of concerned anger in the room, making Tony remove his attention from the disruptive drunk that held no further interest to him, and turn around to meet its owner, who retained a displeased look in a pair of brown eyes that certainly were glowering at him and no one else. "I swear it, Tony. If ya keep doing this every time you come here, I will ban you from this place for sure! I'm sick'n'tired of your brawls— no! I'm damn fed up of paying for the mess you make in _my_ bar every damn night you show up!"

"Man! It's not my fault asshole over there has issues with me." Tony complained, vexation edging his words as his eyes narrowed in the direction of the owner of the tavern who was cross-armed as if waiting for a more credible excuse from him since that was the one Ben would hear many a time. "He was the one who started it, not me!" The accusation was aimed at the man that still lay flat-faced on the ground, apparently devoid of any senses and, hence, unable to hold himself up. Though, had he been 'conscious', it's not like it would have been any different. "I only ruined a damn table of yours! And by the way, you should try and redecorate this shot-to-hell place. It ain't cool at all."

"I don't care! It's a table I need for my customers!" The landlord countered in disapproval, ignoring the insinuations that had been thrown at him as he draped a white cloth over his right shoulder, and the youth found it hard to stop himself from goggling his eyes before such a squalid attitude. He dared to say that his presence there was a nuisance when thanks to him that wrecked watering hole, that only had known cockroaches and rats for clients, grew into a more 'tasteful and known dive'. "And if you had kept your mouth shut, this wouldn't have started in the first place. But no! You had to go and pick the lass up! Boy, do you ever learn?"

Talk about ingratitude.

"I didn't pick her up, Ben! _She_ did it! Now, you can't blame me for being that good looking, can you? Moreover, I can't pass over such a pretty lady like her, now can I?" Tony justified himself, flaunting one of his brand cocky smirks, which, needless to say, didn't help in the least.

"Ya're driving all my customers away! This is not a ring for you to do boxing, ya know?" Ben impatiently banged onto the counter, but it was futile nonetheless. It was not something easy to get that young man scared. There were occasions when he had seen him appear in the bar, all beaten up and not caring in the slightest for those wounds that needed to be tended. And there were also those times where, every now and then, some random guy (or guys) would walk in looking for Tony and demand money for God-knows-what business he was implicated in. As a routine as it was, matters always turned out for the worst and, usually, they ended up in an unnecessary dogfight. Still, Ben never dared to meddle in the row, seeing the kinds of folks Tony dealt with— he would probably be hammered to death, tortured, or who knew what else they could have in store for him.

In this business 'no questions' was Ben's main policy, and he preferred to keep it that way. For his own good.

"Come on! I am giving your clients a show! There aren't many entertainments to enjoy in here. You might as well let me do the work; and you can repay it to me with a bottle of your best brandy, which I know _very_ well you hide in that locked room at the back, old man." Tony snorted crackling his knuckles as he winked at the green-eyed woman, who observed the clashing with great interest from a corner.

"It's a sorry sight, must I say." Ben muttered, rolling his eyes. "And for your information, I don't know what the hell ya're talking about." He retorted through gritted teeth, fist still embedded in the flat surface of the drink counter. But before he could even verbalize another word, the sharp sound of glass shattering grasped their attention, compelling Tony to look towards his left where the inebriated man had collapsed a few moments ago.

The guy was sneering like a brute at him, with clearly intent of harming him with a broken bottle that was in his grasp. And they way the, somewhat, stranger's eyes flared with such a nefarious shade gave Tony a hint of the real problem transpiring behind the human mask that veiled the true image that lay beyond the falsehoods fogging everybody's minds.

And he knew.

"Aw, man! There goes _my_ vodka…" Tony sighed truly displeased while he pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose that undeniably exposed his Italian heritage at the naked eyes [2]. "Ok, you asked for it. And let me say, I won't go easy on ya."

"Lenny, stop it! Or you two find somewhere else to settle your quarrels!" Ben commanded much in a helpless matter, hoping for the two livid males to have some sort of compassion for his already decaying business.

"What a moron…" Tony said under his breath as the man, now known as Lenny, charged at him, trying to slash him with the cutting edges of the glass. The young man easily dodged the blows and with a quick and strong grip on Lenny's wrist, that had him howling and wringing his body in pain at the massive pressure that was being forced upon him, managed to remove the improvised weapon from his hand.

Giving a final punch, Tony knocked Lenny down, making him fall unconscious, yet again, on the floor soaked in spirits.

He subtly sniffed the air and grimaced a little at the slight smell of putrefaction swathing the environs. Rubbing his nose as he casually cracked his neck, as to relieve the discomforting, he returned to the counter with a conspicuous smirk on his lips and grabbed his still-full glass of vodka, taking a quick gulp from it. His pale-blue eyes closed tightly for a brief moment, feeling it as it burned his lacerated mouth.

Ben arched a dark eyebrow at him, and Tony just shrugged in indifference for the stern look the eyes of the older fellow manifested. He knew what was about to come; and this time, he did not want to hear it from Ben. He never had a father, and never was in need of one. He did not need to be lectured by strangers who knew shit about him and did not even care.

"Dude, he's gonna live. I didn't beat him that hard." The boy nonchalantly said, as if dismissing the matter before there was even a small chance for the man to reproach. "And look! I can see he's still breathing. That's a good sign, don't cha think?" He denoted as he pointed a finger towards Lenny, who still was inert and probably in sandman's realm.

Ben shook his head in disappointment as he hauled an onerous sigh, lowering his eyes to meet the wrinkled skin of his hands that had known of better days in his youth— a life of reverie among the fancy grandeurs and customs of the high society, in where he 'had been given the honor' to serve those distinguished and wealthy ones that were capable of obtaining anything they desired with a simple snap of their fingers. A memory that seemed to be so distant at the end of the day, that he no longer remembered the faces of those perpetrators of corruption and fraud. He did not remember their heinous words anymore, or the lust their impious eyes held due to the depraved satisfaction their victims provided them with in their brutal suffering. He no longer knew how he had found the way to remain impassive before their agony. And soon, he did not have to wonder if _they_ allowed him to live, along with others in his situation, because they enjoyed seeing the tormented look in his eyes every time a human was mercilessly ravaged, or they were not interested in him for other than serving, or any other reason it was.

He forgot, and simply grew accustomed to the ordinary existence he now led. He no longer remembered a thing of what he was before and, perhaps, it would be the best if it stayed that way.

"I told you, Tony, that if you caused just one more problem, I would kick you outta here." Ben stated in a low voice, his gaze still attached to his pale hands as if he held some kind of regret by saying those words.

"Yeah, right. I believe I remember that." The youngster nodded puckering his eyebrows while a supercilious simper came into view. Bringing his hand in front of him, Tony mocked an expression of thoughtfulness whilst he tallied his fingers, murmuring numbers to himself. "I think this is like the seventh time you've told me that. Come on, old man! You don't wanna lose your number-one regular, do you? I tell you, if you do it, you better say bye-bye to those pretty green ladies you've been counting every night."

And Ben shook his head yet again, in disbelief at Tony's answer. This boy was impossible.

"I'm serious, kid. Since you arrived in here, all you've ever done is cause one shitty mess after the other." The man austerely said, now daring to look at him right in the eye. He was supposed to have the upper hand in this scenario, not this… excuse of a young man.

"_Tch._ That's a little harsh thing to say, isn't it?" Tony responded with a teasing smile, running a gloved hand through his damp, short, black hair.

"Tony, I'm not willing to pay for any more damage you do." Ben bluntly stated as he grabbed the white cloth from his shoulder, and wiped a schooner with it while offering Tony his back. "You're not welcome anymore. So, I'm gonna ask you nicely: get your ass outta here, or else."

The young man just hummed and gave another gulp of his alcoholic drink, feeling yet again the raw and pleasant burning sensation in his throat. So, this was how things would end— a pathetic farewell, no less. But it was not as if he cared. Words hurt him no more, and people… as long as they minded their own business, he did not give a damn about them.

Placing the glass down with a dull sound, along with some cash, he got up from his stool.

"Whatever, never mind. Yours is not the only bar in this town, ya know?" He retorted in a casual tone while fixing his leather coat. "But next time make sure not to chuck out the wrong patron, old man."

Ben sighed as he watched Tony heading to the door in a laid-back fashion, the sound of his combat boots resonating in the silence of the dim inn, now flooded with the odor of putrid flesh and organic waste that, it seemed, only the boy could perceive. The enraged whispers never ceased for a moment in this place, but they would not fume for much longer. That was what he kept saying to himself.

He stopped right in front the set of stairs that would lead him up and out of there, and stared at the scarlet woman for one last time before, fleetingly, licking his thin lips. Taking in that single action of his, she regarded him with a sweet smile of her own while she arose from her seat, meaning to approach him as her routine went, carrying the same mask those of her kind wore all the time in order to conceal their real hideousness, and trick their victims that fell for attractive and sweet disguises.

But the illusion was a very pretty one to see; he was not going to deny that. It was very desirable. For those who were fooled by appearances it was easier to be misled and believe that all that shines is gold.

"Eager, aren't we honey?" He uttered in an amused tone. "But as much as I'd like to spend this night with a cutie such as yourself, I'm afraid you're not my type and, besides, there's someone else waiting for me at home!" Just as the words were voiced, he wasted no more time and guided his hand to his hip, a large grin plastered on his face. He had already delayed this moment a little too long, and the prospect of breathing in fresh air was not a bad idea at all.

Ben frowned as he observed the kid searching under his coat, and taking hold of something he could not make out. But he did not have to wait much longer to see the outcome of all this.

His eyes widened in horror as he figured out what the teenager was trying to do. For heaven's sake! He had a fucking gun in hands!

"WHAT THE HECK—?" Ben yelled as he tried to run towards him in an attempt to stop the madness that was about to transpire, but—

_Too late._

He knew this guy was insane, but this went beyond all that he ever expected.

A loud bang reverberated in the room, and the irate voices in his mind were silenced for the first time in a long while, as if staggered at the fearless and tenacious determination Tony's cold eyes possessed— one that would even make the devil cry itself without a doubt. And cry they would, the same way he did in his darkest nights when solitude was all that embraced him, when gentle and sad eyes looked upon him with sympathy and esteem in the distance of different worlds.

The barman, and other few people present at the moment, went stiff as they stared open-mouthed in incredulity at the firearm that now released a faint trail of smoke from its muzzle, as if such turn of events were impossible to accept as true. Not because of the unforeseen murder that had been staged in front of them, but the 'unreal' veracity under the mask that no longer covered the undeniable truth.

A hole now scarred the discolored wall that lacked of any type of decoration and would be dull to the eyes of anyone used to better things. The only thing that enhanced it with some kind of life and beauty was the red blood splattered over it, painting a rather noxious scarlet image that, unquestionably, had Death as its main and only Muse.

Ben lowered his gaze to where the woman was— or at least where she would have been expected to be located. Instead, he found a significantly disgusting creature quivering and his eyes drenched in shock, not knowing if he should cry in happiness and relief, or wail in misery at his own fortune when he saw the smashed head of the creature, and the parts of encephalic mass that percolated through its skull, as a red pool formed on the solid ground.

_What was that thing?_

Not even giving those around him a single moment to recover themselves from the first impression that such a cruel sight had inflicted upon them, Tony pulled the trigger once more, shooting right in the beast's eyeball. It howled in pain, as the tender flesh exploded, making the rest of the people scream and back off in fear and sheer surprise. However, that would not do for him. Not at all, for he kept his onslaught until the bullets in the chamber of his black Colt 1911 were spent. And not even then was he able to satisfy his longing for retribution.

It hurt so.

"And there goes another of your _customers._" Tony said in a dry voice as he kicked the monster in the shoulder to make sure it was dead, although it was something quite obvious given that the corpse began to decompose at a really fast pace until it was nothing but a pile of foul-smelling ashes. "Don't worry, this will be the last time I fuck things up in _your_ bar, Ben." He avowed while he put his gun in the hem of his pants and under his leather coat, turning to the exit to leave. "Guess this is good bye."

And it was then that Ben realized just how foolish he was. It was then that he understood how wrong he had been all this time. But it was too late to really appreciate what the boy had done for him; it was a little too late to even say thanks.

"TONY!" The bartender called his name as if life just had been breathed into Ben's body for the first time.

But the only response he could get from Tony were his index and middle fingers that were waved at Ben as a derisive adieu, without even bothering to cast a glance behind him.

And amidst the commotion growing in that run of the mill tavern that summer night, Ben wondered if this time Tony was gone for real.

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[1] In case you're wondering about the song, it's 'Runaway', the same from the 'Crime Story' series. But I will admit that I never had the chance to watch it. Also, I hold no issues with the old songs; on the contrary, I love them and that is just one of my favorite ones.

[2] Actually, there are many hints throughout the game that suggest he could be from Italy, or his mother could be. The names Dante, Vergil, and Eva are typical ones from Italy as well as it is Tony. And well… I think that explains it all.


	4. The World in Their Eyes

_**Author's Note: **_

_Chapter has been beta-ed :) _

_Thank you Luxuria De'Voire!_

_Also, I accidentally over-wrote the next chapter… so all the progressions I had made so far were lost ; A ; the next chapter is going to take longer than I expected since I have to re-write it again. I am so sorry!_

_::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::_

**Chapter IV**

Darkness still embraced the sky when Tony's solitary shape slipped through those scarcely crowded streets of his neighborhood. Streets that had been walked up and down time and again by his restless feet, pursuing the uncertain future that, whether troubled or smooth, he did not know, still lay ahead of him—expecting for him to resign to whatever kismet it had resolved for the youth to put up with since he was a little boy, naïve to all the nasty things in this world. But not anymore; no more would he be willing to consent to the tricky games of life— never had been, and never will be. No more would he allow Her to win in this contest. That was what he told himself at the end of the day, when his actions were weighed in the scales of his mind, trying to convince himself that everything he did was for the sake of his and hers.

But that was not a matter he wished to consider at the moment because, every time he did, he felt like a hypocrite for such lies.

The street lights that still managed to properly work illuminated the vicinity by bits, and filthy shadows crept on the ground. Here and there, small groups of inhabitants were gathered in the otherwise deserted and isolated area flooded in dry weeds that had grown in between the joints of concrete slabs of the sidewalks, and a few dismal trees scattered around that evoked pity just by looking at them. In the distance, he could perceive the faint sound of music, mixed with the muffled barking of dogs and laughter of pretended joy that slipped through unseen lips, carried by the soft breeze that blew against his weary-looking face.

The previous day had been long, too long for his liking, and his last quest had required him to cover the city in the hunt of the last debtors that had failed to pay off their fortnight fee for 'protection services', as Marco Conti, the boss of a small and growing underground criminal organization of Limbo City, wanted it to look like. And as usual, at the end, tears of fear and despair were shed, hands attached to his clothes as Tony heard them begging him for some more time to gather the money; pleading for dear life; imploring not to have their premises burned and looted out of vandalism, their homes destroyed and their throats, slit.

More often than not, he would said that none of that was of his concern; that he merely was doing his 'job' by collecting the _dough _and that it would be in the best of their interests to cooperate with him, unless they wanted him to report the matter to Conti, who would have his _'dogs'_, men who took care of doing the dirty job, after their heads.

However, that day the young man could not bring himself to wear that mask of indifference before the cold world that had seen him grow, tried as he might. Not for the man in front of him, who pleaded for dear life like everyone else, whose grey eyes showed horrid fear whenever their eyes met.

"Please, I beg of you! Give me more time to gather the money…" The man in front of him, whose name was Isaac, beseeched in a rather distressed manner as he tried to fight back the tears that threatened to fall down his eyes. He was in his mid-thirties and owned a small business in the center of the town, selling fabrics and other haberdashery for a living. "Please! The business has been down lately and I don't have any right now. Spare me a little longer… if only I had two or three more days, then I would be able to get the money to pay you off!"

Tony's only response was a mass of grey smoke, that was exhaled from his nostrils and danced in the air, while the tobacco kept burning in the cigarette that was in between his slender yet rough fingers, as if the words the man was babbling to no end held no importance to him.

And they did not.

The large (at least for his age) boy licked his now-dry lips as he lazily and offhandedly scratched the back of his neck, a little annoyed at the typical speech he had heard many times before, whilst he tried to 'reason' with the man since he did not wish to have to resort to less _orthodox_ methods just then— although he had to admit that he did not feel like it in the slightest.

Had it been other circumstances, Tony maybe would have felt pity for the honest man— something he felt he was not. Did it feel upright to do this? No. But then again, nothing has ever been fair for him since he had lost the notion of righteousness a very long time ago, and it did not feel like he could find it just round the corner after so many years of ruthless exposition to even more ruthless elements and conditions. He already was lost to the world; he already was sunken into much waste and it seemed as if he just kept going down and down, and down… with no apparent chance of ever getting out of it; of ever seeing the light.

And he often thought…

_One more soul lost to Hell, one more less… who cared?_ It did not make a damn difference at all.

"Listen to me buddy," Tony started in a low tone as he leaned on the glassy counter that acted as the only barrier separating him from the brown-haired man that was now uncontrollably trembling. He could not risk it being heard by some random customer who might, perhaps, barge in, now, could he? "You know how that old bastard Conti gets when the account balance is off at the end of the month; he's an animal of customs." And of course, he was– a greedy one at that. "So I would suggest for you to haul that ass of yours and get the damn money fast, even if it means that you have to whore yourself to earn it." He paused for a moment, looking at the seller, whose forehead had grown covered in sweat, eyes widened in utter horror at those words. Pulling a fake smile as he gave a puff of his cigarette, the blue-eyed lad waved his hand in a languid manner as he proceeded with his mocking talk. "Bah! Don't get too worked for it. It just was some advice from me, by the way. I'll just tell him that you didn't have any dough and, let's pray, Conti will understand. Hey, you'll never know!" His smile suddenly dropped when Isaac did not seem to catch the drift, and Tony's free hand shot forward to grab the collar of the haberdasher's shirt as he reached to whisper in his ear through gritted teeth. A deep frown—no, a scowl, had marred his before jovial expression, and something akin to an animalistic growl escaped his lips pulled in a thin line that was fractured when he, once more, opened his mouth to speak. "What I meant is: my patience is wearing thin. You're aware of what's gonna follow after I'm done informing Conti of this. Now, if you would be so kind as to get those fucking greens, perhaps, I would be able to enjoy the rest of this oh-sunny day and you, to be dead to the world tonight. Unless you want that to happen for real, man, then carry on. I don't mind at all." The subtle hint in his words was hard to miss. He dared Isaac to do otherwise.

_Daddy?_

Tony's own ears perked up, figuratively, at the foreign intrusion while he quickly gathered himself, acting as if nothing had happened just a few seconds ago between the two of them. Adjusting the cigarette in his mouth with a newfound coolness, he unflappably leaned an elbow on the glass counter and pretended to be looking at some colorful ribbons reeled on their bobbins— which, now, reminded him that certain girl had asked him almost a week ago for some of it so she could wear it in her hair. Honestly, he did not understand why she would request such a silly thing, but since it was a bit unusual from her to ask him anything, he saw no problem in fulfilling that little wish of hers.

"Daddy? Daddy, what's going on?" A small voice broke in their small and furtive talk, that was redolent of tension and hostility at that point, and Tony had to look down and behind the translucent fitting to see a small boy, that seemed to be around four years of age, clinging to his father's leg for all that was worth. The little child wore an expression of fear on his face, and had a patent pout in his lips as he studied the unkempt appearance of the blue-eyed young man with curious but apprehensive eyes. "Who is he, daddy?"

At the unexpected appearance of his little son, Isaac tried to pull a smile in hopes that the child would leave without asking too much questions, as the intrinsic trait in every child seemed to be. If truth be told, he miserably failed and, instead, it ended up being a grimace that did not help to lighten the taut atmosphere in the store. But, how could this man not feel like that when a rather intimidating male was standing in front of him, demanding for what Isaac has been told were 'fees' in a quite daunting way?

"He is… just a friend, Aaron. Now get inside." Isaac commanded him in, what he had intended to be, a comforting voice but sounding pretty panicked for Aaron's safety. It was only natural, after all. Who knew what this delinquent would try to do now that he knew his little son was there.

But on a second thought, why this boy had adhered to this kind of life was left to anyone's guessing. Only questions surfaced in Isaac's mind: did he have a family to take care of? Perhaps little siblings he had to provide for? Possibly he had an ill parent in need of medical assistance? And even if the situation was hard to understand as per se, maybe this was the only way he knew for things to work out for the better. He mentally shook his head, reprimanding himself for ever trying to understand what was beyond any civilized understanding. What was really important at the moment was his child's wellbeing; the poor thing that was tightly hugging his leg as if some kind of instinct had let him know of the real circumstances they were going through. "Now come on, go and paint some cute drawings for daddy."

"That's right, kiddo." Tony bobbed his head, nodding to Aaron as he automatically jerked a smirk. Truth was, the teen only wished to be over with this affair so he could go home already. However, provided that he was obliged to sort out this first before anything, his professed 'working day' was not over yet. It was far from being over, actually. Tony still had four more to go, and this one had already managed to annoy him— no, exasperate him.

So what if the man had children?

But, as the cigarette kept consuming in his lips, as the hurdles and hatred had consumed his life, the more he gazed at Aaron, the more guilt swelled inside of Tony's heart, for those gullible eyes remembered him he too had been like that… an innocent one— but that child had been left behind a long time ago. The way those harmless hands that gripped what this little boy loved the most in an almost defensive manner, secretly supplicating, and saying 'Do not shatter my innocence, too. Do not take him from me. Do not take revenge upon me'.

_Do not steal from me what has been lost to you._

Biting the inner side of his cheek, he felt the bitter taste the mix of a morning black coffee and tobacco had left. He remembered having woken up in the couch of the den to the smell of the rich dark drink that had been placed nearly under his nose. He remembered having opened his blue eyes only to see the light and sincere smile in a pair of lips, as a high-pitched voice cheerfully greeted him with a 'good morning, Tony!'. He had met that content look her eyes gave him, while she offered him the mug in her hands with a sort of nervous giggle when their fingers touched ever so slightly. However, it went unnoticed since all Tony could do was rub his eyes in attempts to drive away the drowsiness of his mind as he started to plan his schedule for the, undoubtedly, busy day that lay ahead.

He had drunk the mug's contents and placed it in the small coffee table immediately making his way to his room, and was surprised to find it was, in fact, tidy. This time there were not bottles and cans of beer scattered all around the floor, or a heap of dirty clothes in the corner; neither were there clothes hanging from the doors of his small wooden closet which was neat— or at least, as neat as a ten-year-old girl could manage to. It was in all a sight unusual to him, and that was when he realized how absent he had been as of late, being out on the street trying to make a living for the two of them.

But it was necessary, he thought.

After taking a quick and cold shower, to clean his body from the soils of yesterday, he swiftly got dressed in a new change of clothes, which no doubt had been washed by her hands (that would explain the spoiled white of his undershirt that now looked dull), and discarded the fouled ones in the red basket that recently had been placed in the corner of his room. However, he was not complaining at all. In reality, it did make him kind of glad knowing that she was trying to do her best just as much as he was. Granted, their efforts could not actually be compared due to the nature of their distinct activities, that had deep differences, but it became clear to him that he was not alone in this one.

And for once, it felt good.

By the time he put a pair of laced leather boots on, the smell of eggs and bacon had already reached his nostrils making his stomach all but rumble in complaint. And as he made his way to the kitchen, that served as a dining room too, the tasty aroma was shortly replaced by that of burnt meat which made him mentally face-palm at the idea of her searing the food again. As if on cue, he got to see the worried expression on the girl's face, as she observed the now overcooked bacon in the frying pan, putting her fingers in her lips as if about to bite her nails in alarm.

"Lemme guess. We're having burnt breakfast… again." He stopped at the doorframe and gave her a playful glare while he crossed his arms. The girl, whose name happened to be Beatriz, jumped in surprise at his unexpected arrival and started to stammer inane explanations as to what had really happened but, of course, they were all ignored as Tony drew near to her and not-so-gently tousled her hair, hearing no protests at his usual display of affection. "I'll show you how to do it right."

Who said he could not cook? Well, in any case, he did better than her.

They broke their fast in a fairly animated chitchat about the small nursery Mrs. Robison, an old woman they had met in communitarian center of a nongovernmental organization and kindly had lent him a hand with the girl, had started and how she helped the elder lady with it. She even showed him, rather happily, the little plant of Rosemary the woman had gave to her as a present; and soon, the mugs of coffee and milk, the scrambled eggs, and the light crunchy bacon and toasts disappeared from their sight as contented hearts enjoyed the warm instant they were sharing. [1]

Maybe he would have said he had missed those little moments with her, had he known how to express these strange feelings other than the cruelty that lay inside of him— one that had been forced upon him.

"Mrs. Robinson says that it repels the bad spirits. I never knew that—" Beatriz added keenly as she did the dishes, her feet on top of the base of the sink to help her have a better reach, and Tony let her keep her ramble as he discreetly slipped in the lounge to search for his _work tools_, as he had come to name them, under one of the pillows of the couch. Once he retrieved them, he hid his pistol in the hem of his pants and the silver switchblade in one of his boots before hearing her exclaim, "I can't wait till it blossoms!"

But his mind kept getting farther and farther from her voice. To the day when Eva found her aimlessly walking in the cold snow, crying as she clutched a small stem of Rosemary to her chest, in the midst of the woods nearby a village that had been attacked by those nightmarish embodiments.

He and his brother had been dragged that night to the forest, by their Mother, in an attempt to escape Death, and once they had made it to the ruins he smelt the ashes that had been carried by the blizzard that burned his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see the orange blaze glowing in the dark sky and he abruptly halted his steps to look behind, still being hauled by the hand of Eva who restlessly scurried in the snowy ground, almost without effort, despite the heavy darkness that surrounded them. It was no surprise, since they had walked that path time and again.

Perhaps in preparation for this day that would eventually come.

Tony had lifted his gaze and looked beyond the ominous sea of pine trees, whose darkened shapes flickered before his eyes, only to witness the village, close to the wooden hut they called home, being consumed by an infernal fire in the distance— an image so horrific that the sight of the heavenly aurora borealis disturbed him in the wake of its crimson shades brutally waving in the skies as a deadly flag; as the bringer of ruin.

A ruin that was about to befall them.

And he wanted to ask what was happening; why were they leaving home; what were they fleeing from; if this was really the end of all things. He felt it in the pitch of his stomach that churned rather viciously and made him want to gag, to collapse on the cold earth never to arise again.

That repulsive smell of brimstone he knew so well; those macabre moans in bloody maws that engendered a feeling of supreme apprehension in his body.

Could it be that they were found?

He would have asked all those questions, which delivered uncertainty the more time they remained unanswered, but he was so tired, his chest painfully throbbed and his muscles felt sore, that in the end there was no vigor left in him to do so. And there was not time, also, for Mother kept running— running like there was no tomorrow. And maybe, there would not be if they did not keep up with her. He was scared, truly. Tony was afraid he might fall behind; that he might be abandoned in the night to be some monster's food.

Perhaps of the monsters that lived beneath his bed.

"Tony?" A voice called out to him and he turned to see Beatriz that stood in the kitchen door, drying her wet hands with a pinkish cloth, a confused expression that conveyed the befuddlement in her concerned eyes.

"What is it?" He feigned indifference as he glanced at a phone number messily written over a yellowish piece of stained paper that he had pulled out of his back pocket. He had to ensure to ring Enzo, before heading off to the jungle of concrete outside, so that he could give Tony the names of the people who still were indebted to Conti. Poor bastards, he contemplated as he grabbed the phone, making himself comfortable as his index finger grazed the buttons, not really wanting to dial the numerals just yet.

"I asked you if you are coming for dinner tonight."

"Huh? Ah, I don't think so." He added rather distractedly, giving her a puzzled stare. Why was she asking that all of a sudden was anyone's guess, for Tony had trusted she would already known his routine by then. "Why'd you ask?"

Tony saw her make a puppy face at his response, and he had to look away so as not to let her see him roll his blue eyes at such a ridiculous expression of hers. Well, it was what he had intended to do but, however, he ended up staring at the worn out wooden floor beneath his boots as he unconsciously gritted his teeth. He was very aware that she was asking him to stay– that she wanted him to stay. And he wanted to apologize but, unfortunately, the words simply would not come out of his sealed mouth.

"Is it for my cooking?" She hastily got flustered grabbing her head that was half-covered by fabric as her eyes went wide as saucers, and he had to admit it looked kind of amusing seeing her in such state, assuming that he did not want to be there just because of the way she cooked. "I-I promise I'll do better this time, okay? I definitely will!"

"No. It's not like that, silly. Chill out, will ya?" Tony explained with a sigh as he gripped the receiver with more force, failing to notice the small cracking sound it made. He still had a call that needed to be made and, honestly, the sooner the better. "You know, to be frank, I can say your cookery is not that bad after all. B'sides, I've had worse in my life so, I believe I know how to appreciate a decent dish that is served to me, and not just chomp at it mindlessly like an animal." He all but sniggered at the last comment and he could tell that it had stolen a chuckle from the girl, too. "It's just that I'll probably have a bunch of things to do today. And anyways, you already know that I rarely have dinner here."

Yeah, he usually had it in some street stall that sold fast food, in the company of one of his mates, as a mere break from their night watch to keep an eye on other criminal bands in the zone that tried to steal from their _family_ business, which included contraband, extortion, gambling, and other really questionable activities that he did not wish to take any part in [2].

"Are you visiting Mrs. Robinson today?" The subject was changed quickly by him. Truth be told, he felt at fault for not being there for her and, with him being absent most of the time and out in the streets, it worried him a little the fact of her being alone in that small apartment he rented in the outskirts of town. But he trusted that Mrs. Robinson took good care of Beatriz while he was not around. That way, he would make sure that his _little sister_, as they made it look to everybody, was not spending her time in the streets and embroiling herself in bad companies. Having him playing that role was more than enough.

"Yeah." Beatriz mumbled, fiddling with the cloth that was still in her hands. Man, this girl was not capable of being still for the life of hers, was she? "She wanted me to help her sew some clothes for her baby grand-daughter since her daughter-in-law gave birth a few weeks ago."

"Oh, did she now?" Tony arched an eyebrow at the news.

"Yeah! And she's beautiful! The most beautiful baby girl I've ever seen in my entire life!" She suddenly zealously beamed, throwing her arms up in the air and he just snorted in annoyance at her sudden outburst of happiness— not that he did mind that she felt happy, of course, but she had been a little too dramatic about it. For his own taste, anyways.

But yeah, he supposed he should have been accustomed to that by then.

"It's the _only_ baby you've ever seen, you mean." The boy corrected, ignoring yet again her rambling as the matter of the phone calling remained totally forgotten. "That's why you're so thrilled about it."

"Her name is Anne, and I got to hold her! She's so small and cute; a real ang—!"

"_And_ I guess she's even cuter when you gotta change her diapers". He dropped the handset and rested his hands on his face, this time rolling his eyes for real.

"Don't be so mean!" Beatriz argued, pointing an accusative finger at him. "I bet that someday you'll think the same, when you are a father!"

"May the Heavens spare me from such pains in the ass." Tony mocked offense and disgust as he pretended he was about to throw up in the floor. "I don't think you'll ever want to know how babies come to this world, anyhow. Believe me when I say that once you do, all thoughts of cute and tender children will leave your mind like…" He snapped his fingers as if to emphasize what he portended. "_That._"

"How so?" She tilted hear head and scratched her hair, confusion washing her face all over again. "Is it that bad?"

"It's a grown-up thing. I'll tell you when you're older… _maybe_." And for the first time the girl kept her mouth shut in a meaningful silence, trying to grasp the cryptic implication behind those words. His secrecy was a thing that had caught her attention, and she wondered what this _thing_ could be. One thing was sure: being Tony the one enlightening her in such themes, his point had to be something important so she had to strive to get the gist of it all. 'Come one, use your brain for once,' she thought to herself biting on her tongue.

But then, realization dawned on her mind and she suddenly felt so embarrassed that she dared not look at Tony in the eye after that. Well, to be honest, the moment was awkward… really discomfited; and the rush of heat that warmed her cheeks did not make it easy for her in her flustered state.

She had suddenly remembered that Mrs. Robinson daughter once explained when Beatriz asked why she was having a baby, that she had ended up pregnant all because her husband had kissed her on the lips. So that was how babies were made… why did she not think of that before now? She would have spared herself from this ridiculous talk, and the smug victorious smirk Tony was giving her.

_A grown-up thing._ Well, she knew what he was talking about for sure… and it was not gratifying for her thinking about such images. Adults sometimes did the strangest of things, she contemplated. Imagine, kissing and sharing all of that sticky saliva and— oh, that was just gross! If Tony gagged at the thought of having kids, then there would be nothing wrong if she did the same. Perhaps she was just overreacting to it, but still could not help herself.

"Eck!" The girl took off to the main door and, after opening it, said good-bye to him in a nervous voice. "I-I'll be gone, Tony! See ya later!"

After stepping one foot on the hallway and out of the apartment they lived in, Beatriz's heart began to race almost erratically when he laughed in a deep voice that she had never heard before, realizing that… Tony was laughing at her! She was not going to live it down any time soon, was she? It was not as if it was a big deal but it still was embarrassing! And much more coming from this boy— this brunette boy whose icy-blue eyes shimmered like that of a feline's in the darkness that preceded the dawn, standing out of his shady figure like two precious gems— this beautiful and wild panther in the midst of a pitiless city jungle.

A dangerous black shadow that glided in the sharp edge of two worlds, she knew there was vehemence in his gaze when the wicked ravens threatened to bolt at the remains of a conscience far from serene.

What was he to her?

He was many things. He was the brother she never had, and she loved him like one of her own flesh; he was the father that protected and provided for her and she was forever grateful to him; he was the kind of friend that, no matter how ugly times were, was still able to make you smile and forget. A hero. He was a hero to her— not your typical one, of course; and she was not your emblematic damsel in distress either, but in their own way it worked. And most important he was a human— a human made of flesh and blood. The boy she knew, the one that cried that night in the alley over a painful loss; the sweet and kind child that tried to keep her warm in that cold winter— the same who had held her hand, guiding her through a journey with an end uncertain. He was all that she knew; her world and more. He was what she called home, her haven, her all. So how could she let go of that just like that?

One could simply not.

It had been only a stupid and childish fantasy of hers when she was younger, that she was the princess and he, the prince, and that they lived happily ever after. Beatriz now knew how irrational it had been, and yet when she looked into his eyes, she wished that the reflection of hell in them would fade and the ashes of days gone would be cleansed from his soul.

Rise from the ashes he will, one day, and light would finally break through those gloomy clouds that had casted over their lives…

She still hoped for their happily ever after. The one that she had written in her mind; the happy ending of this tale of horror when the two of them would rule over their dreams, for she could only surmise how much he was suffering— there was only so much pain a heavy heart could stand. Even if words were not spoken, even if he tried to conceal his inner affliction, those reminiscences still were not easy to forget.

God knew she prayed for him in the nights.

"Good thing you think it's nasty!" He snickered, amused at seeing her flee tongue-tied from this entertaining scene. He was not being cruel to her, at all— just having some little fun at her expenses before embarking on one more day of sins to be paid. "I don't want you to return here heavy with child once you find a boyfriend! Ah, and expect me to castrate him after that." He shouted certain that the girl would hear him.

Her reply was, "Never!" as she sprinted down the hallway before getting downstairs and out of the building. As the air hit her face, she noticed that the morning air was fresh outside but still not really chilling for the naked skin. It somewhat helped the redness of her face to disappear as her dashing slowly became a leisurely stroll in the pavement, and Beatriz hung her head in shame at such stupid reaction of hers. What was Tony thinking of her now that she made a fool of herself back there? She needed to grow up already, and be of some help to him. If only he could believe in her– if only she could make him believe in her; if only she meant as much to him as he meant to her.

But who would rely on a child of her age? No. The real question was: why would they ever do so?

Shaking her head to get rid of those worthless thoughts, she made a silent promise that, regardless of everything, she will never stop trying. Who knew, maybe someday she would gain what Mrs. Robinson called 'maturity'— whatever that was supposed to be. But for now, all that there was left for her was waiting.

Beatriz lightly panted as she brought her legs to a hasty stop. Without thinking, her gaze surveyed the rather tall blocks of flats of her neighborhood, and the blue sky above everyone. The sun was partly hidden behind the clouds that were carried by the breeze of the approaching autumn, and the dried-up leaves from a fading old tree fluttered near her feet in a chaotic dance of brownish-red sensations. She welcomed this sudden rush of warmth almost with open arms, whilst the aroma of this new day invaded her wholly— to her, it was new chance for a beginning, a call to follow your star and see where this voyage may lead you. The scent of freedom, the world before her, this moment, those feelings, vibrations, this side of life, were the things she wished she was able to make Tony see.

With a child-like smile she resumed her saunter, playfully hopping from one foot to another and humming an old lullaby that would not leave her mind. Gradually, she picked up her pace and finally reached the bus stop that roughly was ten blocks away from the edifice, wondering when was that the laughter in her head faded away.

It was obvious she did not know the absurdity of her thoughts in this place of materialism and deceiving— of concealed lies and betrayals; slavery and imprisonment; of hatred and revenge. This scent, this world, this moment, feelings and vibrations in her heart— all of this meant naught to the eyes of those who were the masters of this world.

And she would not know, until much later.

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_**IMPORTANT!**_

_**Yep, I have chosen a name for the girl… finally. **_

_**I know it may sound as an insult to Trish's fans (seeing how much bashing OCs receive), or some sort of cliché story in where my OC is meant to be Dante's love (just like in the Divine Comedy) which, in part… holds some truth, but to a certain extent. **_

_**What I'm trying to do is writing, not a romance based on a mere physical attraction, but a love story in where two people are able to see and accept each other past all the lust that is inherent to any romantic relationship. I want to portray this thing that people call 'true love', that is not to be confused with the romantic love, but the kind of love that will move you to 'go to the end of the world', and beyond your limits to spare them from Hell.**_

_**I'll have you know that this is my first attempt at that, so forgive me if this is a total failure. I know that so far, this sounds as a lame explanation, and an excuse.**_

_**In part, Trish served as an inspiration to create this OC… so you may wonder: why not pair Dante with Trish instead of my OC? Yes, I have thought of having her being this girl… for a long time, actually. But a couple of reasons tell me it might not work fine ; A ;**_

_**1. I don't think Trish even existed when Dante was only thirteen years old.**_

_**2. Even if she existed she most likely would have been sent to fulfill the same purpose and deceive Dante (much like in the game). **_

_**3. I don't know how many of you fans may have reacted if I turned Trish into a human, and drastically changed her character.**_

_**That is all I had to say.**_

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Meaning of the names:

Dante: everlasting.

Anthony/Antonio: priceless, praiseworthy, flourishing.

Beatriz: voyager (though life). *

* I only stick to the meaning that is relevant to this story.

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[1] Mrs. Robinson. Blame it on Simon & Garfunkel. I was listening to that song while writing that part xD.

[2] I suddenly remembered that scene of Constantine and Angela eating in a small stand in the streets after his little 'visit' to Hell o_o'

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_To be continued in the next chapter! Actually, I had to split it in three parts since it was so long, and it may have been a little too tedious to the eyes of the reader ; A ; I don't know what happened to me… I know it's crappy and the writing is really confusing, but all will be explained in due time…_


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